


The Thrice Blessed Child

by A_Teller_of_Tales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lesbian Character, Manipulative Dumbledore, Ravenclaw Harry, Ron Weasley Bashing, Smart Harry Potter, Trans Female Character, Trans!Harry, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-01-28 21:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12615580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Teller_of_Tales/pseuds/A_Teller_of_Tales
Summary: The presence of the Fae on Halloween night will change Harry's story forever. While Dumbledore continues to attempt to control our Hero, and Voldemort to end him, the blessings Harry receives will change him. The blessings mold him into someone more capable of learning and growing and challenging the Fate set before him in prophecy. The script has been written, the players are set, but this is not the Harry they were expecting. Harry will above all be true to himself, and over time he will find that doing so means not being a 'he' at all.This story will incorporate LGBTQ+ themes and a transgender MTF Harry Potter. It will explore Celtic Mythology and themes outside of existing canon. Trans!Harry Eventual Lesbian Pairing/s (Undecided at this time likely Female Harry/Luna Lovegood)





	1. Double Double Toil and Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Please no flames about LGBT Themes. Comments and commentary welcome, please leave constructive criticism.
> 
> On Hold a bit while I am reading the Ulster Cycle, among other things and look to rewrite this with a stronger Gaelic mythological base, Not ready yet, look for me around the end of February 2018 for an update- either the rewrite or another AN.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein three witches gather round a cauldron. Also a house explodes.

              It was Samhain night in Godric’s Hollow, though the lights had dimmed and celebrations both traditional and modern had ceased. Now, just shy of the witching hour, just off the porch of a stately manor a grey old hag waited. Stirring a bubbling mixture in a large copper cauldron blackened with use, her wrinkled eyes searched the distant trees at the end of the street. Looking for some sign of why things felt wrong to her that night she grumbled in discontent Her youngest sister, hair black and shining stood nearby. She was also staring, her gaze fixed upon the ebon sky.

              “The moon is new; just a sliver waxing. A good omen...” spoke the sky watcher with a frown, her gaze unfocused, and whispered, “…but I taste brimstone and blood in the air. Something dreadful occurs tonight.”

               Grunting in acknowledgement, the First dipped her ladle into the cauldron, tasting her brew, “Something is missing, the mixture unfinished, I think we’ll have more for the pot here soon,” she said, rubbing her wrinkled chin, “but it isn’t one of mine.”

               The other’s dreamy visage hardened for a moment in lucidity, “I feel as if I too should have something more for the boil sister, but it evades me, and my Sight is clouded.  _But we are in the right place_ , I sense it. Perhaps the Second will know?” mused the Third.

               “Perhaps,” said the First.

              The two stared wordlessly at one another for a moment, before the youthful one turned and with a wave of her hand caused the autumn flowers in the yard to bloom, and she skipped off into the nearby bushes. With a disapproving click of her tongue the First returned her focus to the bubbling liquid. Grabbing a nearby shovel, she stoked the coals, pulling some closer to the cauldron to keep it hot. Finished with that task, she stood and stretched, her weary bones cracking, then caught sight of the last of their number, “She comes.”

              As the figure down the street, with hair of flaming red, approached through the dark, green leaves grew anew on nearby trees, which before had been dressed in orange and yellow. As she reached the lawn, new sprouts shot up from the once dead earth at her feet. Well curved and not yet wrinkled, the new arrival laughed as her younger sister ceased playing in the garden, ran to throw her arms around her and happily greeted, “Welcome sister, what did you bring me?”

               “What did I bring you dear heart? Why, my love of course,” the woman said, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, “Did you want something more?”

               As the youthful sister, who appeared just into her teens looked up at her with a pout, the wide hipped woman laughed, “I’ve brought you a sweet cake, and I shall have something for the cauldron this night, and all too soon,” she said with a hint of sorrow, and ruffled the hair of the youngest pulling her along to the cauldron with the First, “and how is my eldest sister this night?”

               “Concerned, the cauldron still turns, not yet complete. Your contribution had best join us soon or it bodes ill, and though my part is ended, the Third has said her portion is left undone.” the First replied, eyes narrowing in severity.

                The motherly Second handed a small wrapped sweet to the youngest, then reached out for the oldest, rubbing her tired shoulders and pulling her into a comforting hug, “Worry not dear sister, a maddened soul meets his first end tonight, though it is to be one of many, and years shall pass before we hold him true to the cleansing flames. Sadly, two of mine shall also join our pot this very moment. Look!” she commanded, pointing to a house across the street.

               Several figures appeared in time with her command, cloaked in black with silver masks. One cackled madly as they surrounded the small cottage home, fawning at the one who seemed to lead. That leading man pulled a wand from his robes, and with a spark of red magic the door of the home burst inwards and the man rushed forward through the threshold. The sycophants outside cheering as a man screamed from inside. A short silence and then the next scream was a woman’s, a flash of green eldritch light escaped through the window as she met her end.

Then the night went still, something causing the zealous crowd to hush. A minute passed, then another flash of green far brighter pierced the night and brought with it fearful cries from the crowd as they were pelted by rubble, and a horrible twisted sound of some demon being ripped from this world and crying out in agony roared into the night. A wall of the home was thrown outward, breaking into rubble and scattering the crowd. One of the cloaked men who had kept their footing moved towards the now gaping hole in the side of the house, rubbing at his arm, and looking in for a moment, turned back to his companions shouting something.

              The sharp crack of magic announced the departure of the gathered villains, and the street grew quiet once more as all had vanished. In this silence, a dark wraith rose up from inside the house, and slipped into the eastern wind, soon lost from sight.

              “The wraith is one of yours Youngest, mad with fear of Us, he seeks to flee from fate,” said the Second.

               As the dust began to clear from the ruins of what was once a home, the Three could see two souls looking down upon a small child which encompassed in some protective power. The ethereal hands of the two spirits rested gently on the head of the babe, as each spoke their goodbyes. The motherly figure at the cauldron shed a tear, smiling gently as her whisper was carried on the breeze, “Your job is done, come, it is time to go.”

               The two spirits turned from the crib at the sound, the fear of the unknown in their eyes as they walked through what was left of the wall of the home, approaching the Three standing by the cauldron. The dark-haired male wrapped his transparent arms around his wife who upon drawing near had for a moment sought to turn back.

               “Enough! You have done all you can,” the Second spoke again, more firmly “You will meet with them again, I promise.”

               Grief in her emerald eyes, the red-headed spirit took one last longing glance, and then turned away from her home one last time, and nodded softly despite regret.

               The Second took them both in her arms, placing a kiss on their ghostly cheeks and guided their spirits into the cauldron.

               As soon as the two new souls entered the cauldron it began to glow with a soft white light, misting over as the First began to stir in earnest. The light growing brighter and brighter still until a pillar of light burst upward surrounded in fog. In the depths of this misty light one could hear the wailing of the damned and soft declarations and hymns of love by the righteous for all those left behind. Shielding their eyes, the Three waited the few moments it took the light to fade, and the First then dipped her ladle into the pot and scooped each of them a mugful of what remained.

               “Sweet this year, almost too sweet with love,” said the First, upon a taste, “it was the last two, of course.”

               “I like it this way,” said the Second, “and you can still taste the sour of this year’s suffering and the heartiness of arrogance in the damned souls.”

               “I’m just glad it goes well with my sweet cake,” said the Third with a laugh, “and— Oh it cleared my Sight! Share this with me sisters!” The youngest set down her mug and reached out to link hands with her sisters that all might share in her vision.  

               Moments later the Three opened their eyes, “Our work is not yet done this night,” said the First.

               Taking the lead across the street and into the remnants of the small cottage home, the First had grown taller and more regal as she walked, her skin grew smooth, and her hair turned a dull black. The Second and Third mirrored her, and though each retained their differences, without glamour the Three looked much alike— each an otherworldly beauty gracing the mortal eyes of the small child before them. The Second took the child in her arms, pulling them from the crib and cradling them between the Three.

               “Would that we could take you for a changeling and spare you the pain yet to come,” said the Second.

               “Fate has other plans,” said the Third sadly.

               “We shall watch and weep for you dear child, you are descended from a dear friend of mine, Ignotus was such a sweet boy. Your parents have through ritual and sacrifice given you a great protection, and in calling on me have given you an even greater boon than they knew,” said the First, “We have not much time, what blessings shall we give?”

               The three pondered for a time, the Third first to speak:

               “I, Nemain, by Magic, Wrath, and War, Bless this child with a Commander’s Mind, to be strong in knowledge, reason, and the magics I hold dear, with the iron will to resist the allure of the Dark, even when confronted with death. So Mote it Be,” spoke the youngest.

               The Second spoke next, confident in her decision, “I, Macha, by Life, Protection, and War, Bless this child with a Goodly Heart, to remain kind and thoughtful, yet fierce in defending those they love. Despite all life shall send at them, they shall remain unbroken. So Mote it Be.”

               The First went silent for some time, looking at her sisters each in turn before focusing on the child. She gently placed her hand on their head tracing down from the lightning shaped scar to their small soft cheek. She opened her mouth to give her blessing of renewal, to give the child hope and peace after Fate had its way with them, but the words would not come. She shivered, for she could feel the hand of Destiny upon her. She opened her mouth and let Fate take control.

               “I, Babd, by Death, Rebirth, and War, Bless this child with Refining Fire, that through their trials they will learn Wisdom: when the mind should rule over the heart, and the heart the mind. That in time and through their struggles they will find the truth in themselves and the courage to live it, and lastly that they will expose the dross of lies that others hide behind that all might know their true selves. So Mote it Be.”

              Babd felt the strength leave her body and fell into Nemain. Supported by her sister she motioned for Macha to return the child to its crib, “We must be away, the mortals come,” she said, gathering herself and taking one look back at the child as they left, “I pray that was a blessing more than a curse dear one.”


	2. A little more than kin, and less than kind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein we see Harry's life with the Dursleys; A snake happens; Lots of mail happens, and everyone is a bit crazy.

             In a cupboard under the stairs, at Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, in a perfectly normal house, full of perfectly normal people, or so they would say; there was a treasure. Most wouldn’t see it as such, for it was just a shoebox full of ordinary things. But for the child who lived in the small cupboard under the stairs in which that box was kept, the bits and bobs it held were more precious than gold: Seashells from the one time he had visited the ocean shore; colored glass, from broken bottles in the park with the best swings; the button eye from his first, and only, teddy bear— he had found it ripped apart one morning; a piece of ribbon, fallen from the hair of the nice girl at school.

             For Harry, each of the myriad items in that box was a precious memory. He had few enough good memories in his short life, and so when he found one, he kept it. Now holding each in turn, the child could take a trip back to a happy moment. Bright sounds, smells, and experiences amongst the years of abuse and neglect. After examining each treasure, one by one, and carefully returning them to their proper places, he placed the box itself back under the loose floorboard.

               Harry looked around the small cupboard with his bright green eyes, taking in the crayon scribbled sign which declared this place, “Hary’s Roome!” There was a collage on the door-side wall, made from scavenged glue and bits of magazines and other things. A too-thin mattress held a few threadbare blankets and an old used up pillow, stained with cousin Dudley’s drool. This was Harry’s space, both his prison and his refuge. Anger and sorrow, both rolled into one, as he resigned himself for another night in the dark cramped enclosure. He huffed as he pulled the string that would turn off the naked light bulb up above, and he drifted off to sleep.

               Strange dreams followed, wailing and shouting, a pair of eyes full of malice, three women filled with eldritch power, a flying motorcycle.

***   

               The morning came too soon, the thunderous sound of his cousin and uncle thumping down the stairs startled him awake, all dreams fading. He gathered himself as best he could for the day, shaking a spider off his socks, and only half listening to the shrill cries of his aunt demanding he hurry up and make breakfast.

                “Up!” she shrieked, pounding on his door.

               “I’m up,” Harry replied, wishing for a few more precious minutes of sleep that was never going to be. Responding to her continued ranting he muttered, “Bacon, Dudley’s birthday, got it.”

               Forcing himself from the cupboard, Harry was a too-small and too-thin 10-year-old boy with unkempt dark hair falling just below his ears. His eyes were a deep emerald green and they held a quiet strength that belied the weary expression on his face as he headed for the kitchen. As he went, he adjusted the frame of his glasses, the tape which held them together made necessary by Cousin Dudley, who had punched him in the nose a few weeks prior. He pulled out the stool which would allow someone of his limited stature to use the stove, and he began prepping a breakfast of bacon and eggs that he might be lucky enough to get a portion of after the others had finished.

               Harry kept quiet and cleaned up as his family chatted at the table as they ate, food falling from his Uncle Vernon’s mouth as he spoke and chewed all at once. The large whale of a man punched Harry hard in the shoulder once as he passed and Harry pretended to laugh at whatever joke the man had just told. Harry nimbly stepped over Dudley’s attempt to trip him as he took the plates over to the sink. Finally, Harry was allowed a small bowl of his own, and he ate it quickly hoping to escape soon after.

               It couldn’t be so easy that morning. The pig was going to open his presents, so of course Harry had to stand and watch, ‘ooh-ing and ahh-ing’ at each new delightful toy the tubby child would break soon enough. After that bit of torture, and an argument over the number of presents, Harry had tried to escape back to his cupboard, but a phone call had ended those aspirations. With Mrs. Figg unable to watch Harry, and his aunt and uncle refusing to let him stay home on his own, Harry was doomed. He would be forced to go to the zoo with Dudley, and he had a terrible feeling about it.

               A few hours, a snake, and a bruised ribcage later, and Harry was back in the cupboard, this time with a lock firmly fasted outside. He had seen that coming a mile off.

***

               By the time Harry was allowed out of the cupboard again for more than a few minutes at a time, school was out for the summer. Not that anyone who mattered noticed. Harry would have thought the schoolboard would send someone to investigate, but somehow, when it came to Harry, things like that just didn’t seem to matter. He had shown a teacher the bruises once when he was 8, told her about the time Vernon had broken his arm. The police had shown up, and a social worker. Harry was sitting in the back of a squad car when some weirdly dressed man with a beard showed up and the next thing he knew he was back in the cupboard with fresh bruises and no dinner.

               Harry had since figured out how to avoid the worst of the beatings and the blame for everything wrong in Uncle Vernon’s life, at least most of the time. He just had to be perfectly normal, never cry, and definitely not ask questions, especially not about his deadbeat drunkard parents whom Aunt Petunia seemed strangely jealous of. But that thing with the snake, that had been weird. Vernon didn't like weird.

Towards the middle of summer, a day after Dudley had received his new, very orange school things including a small club called a Smacking Stick or some such thing which he proceeded to use to inflict as much pain on Harry as he could get away with, Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen dying some of Dudley’s old things an ugly grey- soon to be his uniform for the local public. Vernon was at the table reading the paper, and Dudley was chasing him with the stick again. This was thankfully interrupted by the sound of the mail flap.

               “Get the mail, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

               Harry didn’t bother listening to the rest of the ensuing argument, he would end up getting the mail anyway, and headed to collect. 'Huh,' a letter for him, ‘first time for that.’ Harry made sure to stuff that in his waistband and hide it well before returning to the kitchen with the rest of it. He read it later in his cupboard.

               ‘It must be a joke,’ thought Harry, after reading the invitation, ‘Witchcraft and Wizardry?’

               Well it made him laugh anyhow, something new for the treasure chest to be remembered now and again for a chuckle.

               The next day another letter came, this one Uncle Vernon found, “Freak! Get in here!” He yelled from the kitchen, waving the letter, “What is this?! Who have you been telling about your cupboard?” He had one big meaty cocked back fist in the air.

               “No one sir,” Harry replied, with a gulp.

               “Those freaks…watching us,” Vernon muttered ignoring Harry, which was the best the boy could hope for at the best of times.

               “I think it was a joke—” Harry almost started in about magic not being real, but realizing he had never told his Uncle he had read the first letter, “I mean, no one ever sends me mail. Ha-ha lets poke fun at Harry, pretty great, right?”

               Vernon’s face started to go red, “P-P-Petunia! We need to discuss a few things!”

               The next few days were very strange, Harry was moved to Dudley’s old bedroom, the mail slot was hammered shut, letters were coming in bathroom windows, inside eggshells, all sorts of ways.

               When the letters came in a flurry thought the fireplace Harry’s uncle seemed to snap, and Harry was fairly certain a rib was broken this time with the way it hurt to breathe. The letter at the hotel desk made it worse. Something weird was happening, and Vernon was going to make sure Harry paid for it.

               When Harry saw the long thin package, he knew instantly what it was. That was the moment he was sure Vernon was going to kill him and bury him near the sea. The next day would have been Harry’s 11th birthday. The shack out on the rock was where it would all end.

               ‘Vernon and Petunia are in the other room, Dudley in mine, how do I get out of this alive? Maybe if I can get to the rifle first?’ Harry considered it for a moment, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone if he didn’t have to. Maybe Harry was just imagining things. None of it seemed real.

               No, Harry had to escape now, just get past Dudley, get to the boat, and back across the sea. A quick glance at the watch on Dudley’s wrist, 10 minutes to his birthday. ‘Now is the time Harry,’ He thought.

               Harry winced at every creak of the floor on his way to the door, he opened it swiftly when he heard a wave crash, and ran for the boat after closing it behind him. A wave coming over nearly tore him from the rock and if it had, would have plunged him into the depths of the sea. He wasn’t sure the boat was going to make it back across. ‘Death by bullet or death by drowning? What will it be Harry?’

               Maybe Vernon will make it quick…

               … back into the hut, his now wet clothing chilling him to the bone.

               Two Minutes until his birthday.

               One minute.

               Seconds.

               BOOM!

       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to show a little bit of who Harry is with the Blessings while staying fairly close to canon up until Diagon Alley. That said, I also didn't want to fall into the trap of simply re-writing the book. I hope I got that balance right.
> 
> I chose to make the Dursley's a little bit more obviously abusive. Vernon seems like the kind of man to get physical with Harry, he actively encourages Dudley to do so in canon at the very least.


	3. Though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft let by the nose with gold.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Harry has a panic attack; becomes rich; gets new clothes; and tricks a giant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 has been edited some, and a cuddley snek has been removed, likely to be reintroduced in chapter 4 though. ;)

               Harry was having a panic attack, he was sitting in a boat in the early morning sun as a bearded ogre of a man rowed him to shore, and he was having a panic attack.

               Wizardry and dark wizards, his parents and a school, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had known it all. They had known he wasn’t normal and had tried to beat it out of him. He survived. It wasn’t his fault. There really wasn’t anything wrong with him. He had thought there might be, since they had seemed to think so.

               But it was all a part of who he was, what he was born to be: His hair always growing back when Petunia tried to cut it shorter than it is, the glass on the snake exhibit vanishing, that time he was running from Dudley and his gang, closed his eyes for just a moment and was suddenly a mile or two away.

               He had tried to absorb all the information last night but it was too much and now Hagrid was still going on about some bank named Gringotts.

               ‘A psychotic break,’ thought Harry, ’that is what this is I’m having a hallucination brought on by years of abuse. I need to shut my eyes and cover my ears and count to ten and I’ll be back in my cupboard.’

               Harry tried just that…

               …Harry was still in a boat being rowed by an ogre and he was still having a panic attack.

***

               It took a few minutes and more than a few deep breaths, but Harry was finally ready to deal with his new reality, somehow gathering his wits enough to deal with all the ‘muggle money’ as the giant put it, to get them back on a train to London, and off to a certain old tavern in the city.

               The first people Harry noticed in the dimly lit common room was a group of cute old ladies having a get together in the corner, drinking glasses of sherry and gossiping. A man in a top hat walked by and up to the bald-headed bartender with the buck teeth. Hagrid, the ogre with whom Harry had spent the evening and morning introduced the bartender as Tom, and Harry made sure to try and remember it. Bartenders were useful, he knew _that_ from reading fantasy novels, a bartender always had good information.

               Harry was just about to ask a few questions, when Tom seemed to recognize him and with one half whispered exclamation of “Harry Potter,” soon the whole tavern was seeking to greet Harry and pat him on the back. The touching was a bit overwhelming, and the noise, too many faces at once. Harry was only able to remember the black-haired man with the stutter because he had said he was a professor at Hogwarts. For the rest, he simply shook hands and nodded as he tried his best not to lock up completely, or run away.

               Just as Harry was about to break, Hagrid shooed the rest away letting him breathe again. Harry barely remembered the next few minutes, as he let himself be led along to the bank. The goblin who greeted Hagrid was abrupt and to the point, and he and Harry were quickly ushered on through the cavernous doors with the dire warning and into a miners cart.

               ‘I have a vault?’ Harry thought to himself as he held on for the wild ride, trying to process still more information. The rumbling ride didn't help any, his brain still trying to catch up.

               As the quick cart finally came to a stop, Harry followed Griphook, their Goblin escort, onto the platform and down a row of great iron doors built into the stone walls of the tunnels. As they came to Harry's own vault, they paused, the goblin rubbed his chin, showing off his impressive sideburns.

               "This is the one. Key?" The goblin man asked, holding out a hand.

               Hagrid pushed past, taking a tiny gold key from his pocket and inserting it in the lock as the goblin glowered at him. As the vault door creaked open, Harry’s eyes went wide at the amount of gold and silver piled in the vault.

               “All yours,” smiled Hagrid tucking the key back into a pocket.

               In that moment Harry came up with a plan. Hagrid helped him pile some into a bag and began to speak once more, “The Gold ones are Galleons, seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it’s easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple of terms, we’ll keep the rest—“

               “No,” Harry interrupted, holding out his small hand “My key, please?”

               Hagrid stammered, looking confused, “But Dumbledore said he would hold onto it?”

               “No,” replied Harry, now demanding, “Give me my key.”

               The room went quiet and still, Hagrid freezing just long enough to hear the sliding sound of a blade leaving its sheathe back behind him. His once beetle like eyes grew wide and he began to search his pockets for the key, faltering over his words, “W-wait just a m-minute!”

               Hagrid turned to look at Griphook, the small goblin was grinning wickedly from ear to ear as he spoke softly, a wicked looking blade in his hands, “Mr. Potter would you like me to retrieve your key?”

               Hagrid renewed his fumbling search and at last found the tiny gold vault key, “A-ha! Found it!” he exclaimed, “’ere it is Harry now, I’ll just hand it over nice and friendly like, and we’ll be square, right? N-no need to get all excited there Mr. Goblin ser.”

               Taking the key from the giant’s hand, Harry asked Griphook if he had a cord or chain he could put it on, a Galleon’s fee later and Harry had a chain around his neck that no other’s hand could remove, or so the Goblin said.

               Griphook’s cruel eyes never left Hagrid until the man had exited the vault, and the giant let out a relieved breath of air as the tension seemed to drop once the vault door closed. For Harry's part, he made a note to find out more about this 'Dumbledore.'

               “R-right, on to the other vault then!” Hagrid attempted, reestablishing a measure of authority.

***               

               Having retrieved Harry’s funds and Hagrid’s package the giant began to beg off for the next errand, citing his nausea from the cart ride. Harry smiled a knowing smile, and let Hagrid show him to Madame Malkin’s and then let the man seek out a drink. It wasn’t every day one was threatened by a goblin after all.

               Harry walked in, to be greeted by a stout smiling woman in mauve fetching a few things from the counter, “Hogwarts dear? Got another in back right now, but I’ll soon get you sorted!”

               Harry nodded and then began browsing a few of the ready to wear items. He found a pair of black trousers that he thought would fit, and a white cotton tunic shirt that looked muggle enough and a robe-like Victorian jacket thing, that would hit about mid-thigh in burgundy.  

               “Do you have a changing room, I found these, not a big fan of my current clothes?” He asked, walking back to see a blonde boy with slick backed hair getting poked and prodded with pins. The woman in mauve made a mark on the boy’s robe with some chalk, and pointed, her mouth occupied by a pin.

               Harry had judged well on the fit, surprisingly, since he had never been shopping before. Only the jacket thing was a bit too tight, so wearing his new tunic and trousers he headed back into the store. Madame Malkin stopped him before he could try on the bigger jacket and had him stand on a stool next to the other boy.

               “You look so much nicer in those than you did in those ratty old things dear,” she smiled at him, “Promise me you won’t wear your old clothes again and you can have three sets like that for 4 Galleons.”

               Harry blushed a bit and fought through the long robe she then slipped over his head as she got to work pinning some things. The blonde boy was still nearby, seemingly checking the fit, but not content to do just that, “Hello, Hogwarts too?” the blonde asked.

               “Ummm, yes?” Harry replied a bit distracted.

               The boy began to go on and on about wanting a racing broom and something called Quidditch. Harry nodded politely at the right times, and mostly tried not to make a fool of himself. When the boy spotted Hagrid and called him a savage, Harry couldn’t help but agree a bit.

               “He isn’t the smartest but he seems nice enough, he is my minder for the trip here,” Harry said.

               “But what about your parents? They are _our_ kind right?” The boy asked in reply looking a bit like he smelled something nasty.

               “My parents are dead, but they were a witch and a wizard.” Harry said.

               That seems to settle the other boy.

               “Good, I don’t even know why they let the others in, I mean, imagine not even knowing about Hogwarts until…” the blonde blathered on, Harry stopped listening partway through.

               “All done dear,” Madame Malkin told Harry as she made a few notes on a scroll.

               Harry quickly pulled off the robe with her help, giving the other boy a small nod.

               “Well, see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” The blonde said as Harry went to try on his new jacket and gather up a few similar outfits.

                Thankfully the other boy was gone by the time Harry had picked out all three outfits for the special price he was offered and a few extra things besides. He never wanted to wear Dudley’s old things again if he could help it. He handed over the Galleons to the woman in Mauve and then she asked a question that left him stumped.

                “What address should I send your robes to once they are done dear?”

                 That was a good question. Harry had already decided he was running away from the Dursley's after all. Making sure Hagrid was still occupied outside and not eavesdropping, he asked if she knew of any place to stay nearby. It seemed the Leaky Cauldron has a room or two, and there was a nicer hotel called the Prancing Pony inside the Alley itself.

                 “The Prancing Pony then Ma’am.”

                 “mmhmm, and the name?”

                 “Harry Potter.”

                 “Har-Oh! Oh my, but I thought…Oh dear,” Madame Malkin blushed deeply, “The Prancing Pony right I can do that.”

                 She seemed to hesitate a moment, before forcing herself to speak, “Harry dear, the tunic and jacket you have on... those are the girl’s cut. With your hair, and just... the way you moved I thought…”

                 Harry froze, he could hear his Aunt Petunia’s voice in his head, telling him to stop sitting like a girl, and that boys don’t cry. Harry could feel tears at the edge of his eyes as he lost a few moments. When he could think again he felt Madame Malkin’s soft hand on his back. She made gentle comforting sounds as he came back to himself.

                 “It’s okay dear we can just put them back and get you something more…”

                 “No,” Harry whispered.

                 “No?” she asked.

                 “I- I like them, so it’s fine, plus the shirt looks kind of muggle so…it’s okay, right?” Harry looked at her for reassurance.

                 “S-sure,” she replied, and then with more certainty, “Wizards all dress in their own style anyway and I’m sure no one who isn’t a seamstress will notice.”

                 Harry felt a little funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, she had thought him a girl? 

                 The woman could see that the boy needed a bit more reassurance so she took a quick look around, and settled on a flat cap in grey.

                 “Take this on the house, it will help hide that scar I’m just now noticing and keep the fans away,” she said with a wink.

                 “Th-thank you Ma’am,” Harry replied gratefully, promising himself to always get his wizarding clothing from her shop.

***

                  The rest of the errands went smoothly, though Harry had to insist on a brass cauldron as the pewter one was just too prone to melt in his opinion. Hagrid kept insisting that the list said pewter, the two decided to turn to the shopkeep to settle things.

                  “It is a good thing to learn to control temperature, precisely, so I would recommend getting a pewter as well to learn what not to do, but having a good brass will save you a headache later, and is better for long term use,” the professional insisted.

                  Hagrid conceded with a grumble to the compromise.

                  When Hagrid wouldn’t let him get the books he wanted or the expandable trunk, Harry quickly realized he would not get what he needed with the man around so he quickly conceded to the bare minimum for now. He had plenty of Galleons after all.

                  As for the wand, well, he was going to make sure to get another wand or two. Depending on the brother wand to that of Voldemort seemed a bad idea. Harry had read about these kinds of things, his only relief from life with the Dursley’s had been the library, but if magic was real, then so were omens and coincidence was likely not to be coincidence.

                  Finally, they returned, packages in hand to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry insisted he could make it back on his own, why didn’t Hagrid have a drink or three on Harry? A few Galleons on the counter for Tom and a handful of pound notes from Hagrid for the train, and the giant was off making merry with the other patrons. He never noticed Harry tap the three bricks and head back into Diagon Alley instead of heading towards London proper.

***

                 Harry entered the Dursley’s later that evening. It appeared that no one else was home yet. Taking his new expandable trunk from his pocket he pulled his box of treasures from beneath the floorboard and put the whole thing into the chest. Looking around at the rest of his meager belongings, he quickly decided nothing of worth remained, except for a few pounds he had squirreled away.

                  Heading back into the night, Harry jogged to the nearest bus, he’d have to hurry to catch one of the last trains to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to finally get this chapter out. I think I caught all the spelling and grammar issues on this one. So my intent here was originally to simply establish a smarter Harry, who is a bit more stubborn and goes after what he wants, but i ended up deciding to give her just a hint of some of the crippling anxiety and sensory overload that I myself experience from time to time. 
> 
> I found Chapter 2 didn't need as much tweaking as I had thought, but the story is definitely driving itself now whereas it wasn't before.
> 
> Hope that you all found it enjoyable. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> On Hold a bit while I am reading the Ulster Cycle, among other things and look to rewrite this with a stronger Gaelic mythological base, Not ready yet, look for me around the end of February 2018 for an update- either the rewrite or another AN.
> 
> A little bit about me you ask?
> 
> I'm a MTF transgender lesbian, writing about people like me. I have issues with anxiety and I always have to be doing something, which is why I never want to sleep and I am writing this at 3 in the morning. I read and watch most things Fantasy and Sci Fi, and try to play D&D at least once a week when I can. I actually like being active and I do well at it when I have a gym partner, and when I don't I sit at home on the internet and don't get a lot done. I enjoy snowboarding, Grand Strategy computer games,and cooking (and eating TOO MUCH.)


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